"I hate this feeling. Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air. I considered the streets beyond, bleak as the bleached bones of wilderness scaffolding my heart. Just a stone's throw away."
— Ellen Hopkins

True.

For quite some time now, I have lacked the inspiration to complete any poem writing. Out my window, it's drizzling. It's been raining for the past two days. It's unusual for a desert climate. I love the scent of rain-- It smells like the Earth: natural, blue and green. Maybe it'll pop up-- (When my journal isn't with me, of course). Haha.